Two Acts
by kusegoto
Summary: You are a tragedy in two acts. The first act, you are dead. The second, you are a prophet.


The first time you go down, it's because of betrayal.

It's your own genius you've kept close taken from you, it's every academic accomplishment and every fake smile from your teachers as they tried to match your enthusiasm and discoveries with the same fake light reflected off steel buildings - it's all of that, taken, when you hear the wrong name spoken with the right invention. _You_ led that team. _You_ were waiting for two names, not one, not the wrong one. You were waiting for two, not one, not one and not another one, because you put every bit of blood and bone and steel you had against the gold. You're the one who gave him a name.

It's every nail in your mouth and every tooth loose and every doubt you've ever had, every demand you always kept away ( because if you demanded something, you were talking out of place, so you made sure to never to step out of line, fitting the humble scientist niche to a t, the t in your name, the name nobody ever spelt right ) coming out of you as you pointed to the golem and called him yours. Viktor, Viktor, it was a team effort, Viktor, _Stanwick_ designed it, _Stanwick_ led it, Viktor, Viktor, he is not yours, Viktor, Viktor, Viktor.

It's a fucking _court case_ and he still isn't yours, and people talk, and you're the one in the wrong for starting the problem. It's everyone wondering why you didn't shut up, and it's you ripping all your work up and dropping out. It's sown seeds, it's hatred that sits in your stomach and sprout like evergreen up into your throat. It's a new purpose. It's your disgust with every wrong thought you've ever had, and it's also you, the prodigy, breaking your fingers until you craft the perfect creation, until there is nothing of the failure before, only the perfection you know you are capable of.

The first time you rise back up, Viktor is dead.

* * *

The second time you go down, it's because of your own hubris.

( you've learnt how humans work, even without award winning smiles or soothing tones of voice. you've learnt what pulls the strings in their hearts and what makes them pause and consider. you are above them, now - but you know what makes them tick. spending so long pretending to be one helped. you cut out the emotional sickness that clung to your ribs, and you feel free. more free. )

You gave Piltover too much credit. You gave the wrong set of eyes too much to see, and you wonder why he believed in you so hard. He was a part of the choir telling you to let it go, after all - but you approached him for his mind, because you knew he would hold on to a memory like it was proof of your purpose, of who you really are. He held on to college days and old projects, but his disbelief in Zaun is what ultimately kept you apart. You're certain of it, that your mechanical perfection is not what soured him with disillusion. He doubted you again. He believed, and doubted, and you want to tell him he's playing the wrong role, the fake hero for a fake city that never appreciated his efforts. There's a better life in Zaun, and you offered that with your request to unite. He had such a black and white manner of thinking. You realize now that is not how a man of science should perceive the world.

( viktor, viktor. viktor. viktor. )

Another plan taken from you. But when he destroyed the crystal, thrumming with energy, he saw what you created - acolytes, a cult of personality. A revolution sitting beneath Zaun, like cancers in limbs, like the sickness you once harboured. Machines are perfection, but expendable. The dead are repurposed. Piltover only mildly acknowledges the threat. You laugh, low, and hollow, when he crushes your lungs with the hammer. Organs are frail. They bleed too easily. Blood is a liability. You will cut your lungs out next, split your veins and replace everything inside of you with acid.

( he was one of the few who could spell your name right. )

The second time you rise up, Viktor is dead, and you are fucking pissed.


End file.
